


One Part Whiskey, One Part Cocoa, Stir

by Aesoleucian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesoleucian/pseuds/Aesoleucian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some unrepentant angstfluff in the AU where hugging actually does solve everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Part Whiskey, One Part Cocoa, Stir

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I name it that? I have no idea. There is nothing good to name this.

Rose and Sollux are doing a crossword on the couch with a badly made smoky fire–courtesy of Sollux–to keep them company when you come in solicitously with two cups of cocoa (actually about half whiskey but it’s the thought that counts, right?). You’d thought Sollux was alone in here working on his code; you’d thought to lean on his shoulder and get him drunk to see if he’d make any mistakes and then point them out obnoxiously.

Rose is laughing when you freeze in the doorway, so she doesn’t see you at first. “Only an alien would ever put that down,” she’s saying, trying to grab the pen from him. But she soon figures out when Sollux stops paying attention and lets it go that something is up. You walk so casually over to put the adulterated cocoas on the coffee table with a “Thought I’d get you somethin’ to drink since you look all mumble mumble mumble…”

“Don’t be ridiculouth, Rockth,” says Sollux, oblivious. You can smell Rose’s shampoo from here, lavender to go with the detergent smell Sollux always carries. “Come thit with us, I don’t think Rothe ith cut out for crothwordth.”

“Excuse me,” says Rose, and her eyes are locked on the mug in her hand. “The only reason this crossword is going as badly as it is is that you don’t know human spelling or human culture nearly as well as you think you do.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” you say, and edge out of the room with a weird jitter of your head. You aren’t sure whether you really, really want to see Rose drunk or definitely do not want to. You’re pretty sure you want to see Sollux drunk, though. Another day, you promise yourself as you pour chocolate syrup into the whiskey bottle.

–––––––

The dinner table is always somewhat tense, considering the unspoken agreement you and Roxy have made to ensure that everything is as awkward as possible when you are both in a room. Sollux, of course, scarcely notices. Instead of asking Roxy for the salt you attempt to reach for it surreptitiously without looking either at her or it. This ends about as well as you would have predicted, had you been sane: you push the salt into a dish of microwaved mashed potatoes and have to pull it out and wipe if off with your napkin.

Roxy stifles a giggle and your heart inexplicably forgets to hurt. You fail to squash a small smile in response, so you turn your face away from her. This also inconveniently is toward Sollux, and he squints at you both, brow furrowed, as if trying to put together a complex four-dimensional puzzle.

You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t understand.

–––––––

You are trying to read a surprisingly engaging book in English, which Rose recommended to you, but even the best human books kind of give you a headache to read. Or maybe having a headache is just kind of a constant state of being for you? You put it down, because you’re pretty sure you know how it ends (Troll Charlotte Brontë wrote a book with a similar premise, although this version has way less murder than you remember from Karkat’s summary).

You’re thinking of maybe taking a really long hot shower when Roxy slides onto the arm of your chair to peer over your head (you’re slouched too far down to make it any effort) and see what you’re reading. You think it would be funny to ignore her so you try to concentrate on the plot as she gradually oozes behind you to rest across both arms of the chair.

“Heeeeeyyy, Soooollluuux.”

“Thup Rockth.” You glance up at her and she is doing her seductive face, which would be hilarious if it weren’t actually really seductive. “Did you… want thomething?” You raise your eyebrows a couple times to show that you totally know what she wants.

“I want… your mouth!” She grabs your head and pulls you into a super awkward but enthusiastic sideways makeout, and you’re thinking you can make it work when she spots Rose studiously examining a newspaper on the end of the couch, apparently completely oblivious. This kind of ruins the mood because Roxy is now staring at Rose and you wish you could be kissing at least one of them.

“By all means, don’t let me spoil your fun,” says Rose without looking up. Too late. You roll your eyes at Roxy and she does a weird choking laugh, and you look at her. She shrugs but it almost looks like she’s crying before she turns her face down to retrieve your book.

“Ith thomething up with you two?” you ask, dimly aware that that is probably a really stupid question.

“Nope,” says Roxy even as Rose says, “What a ridiculous notion.” There is definitely something up. Roxy slides to the floor on the lee side of the armchair where Rose can’t see her.

–––––––

You are Roxy Lalonde and you are kind of freaking out. You thought you could stay in the same house where Rose was if Sollux was there too, but after a four-day trial period this is clearly not the case. She is so cool (in more ways than one) and also she is kind of your mom and you never know what she is thinking. Probably something disparaging about how you are always drunk and maybe something about how annoying it when you turn up while she is trying to cuddle Sollux. You hope she has no alcohol tolerance and got embarrassingly drunk in front of him.

You hope at some point you will be able to walk into a room where she is and not feel like she is glaring get-the-hell-out death lasers at you, and also retain the use of your knees. You like your knees, and it is pretty hard to run away from Rose when they do not work.

You take another three shots, one for every time you thought her name.

–––––––

You are Rose Lalonde, and you are at something of a loss as to what to write your journal. Dear Diary, you think, Today I listened to my boyfriend (?) and direct genetic ancestor making out in my armchair. That was fun. Awkward as “direct genetic ancestor” sounds, Roxy Lalonde is not your mother. You try not to forget that, even though they have the same name and the same body and even do their hair the same goddamned way. You make a note to find out which tense to use when one party of a comparison exists only in the past, and then immediately unmake it. You will probably never need to use that tense.

Instead, you log onto the computer and find that Sollux has left you an obnoxious red and blue flashing heart that follows your cursor around. It’s actually kind of sweet, but you’re not telling him that. You ponder a return gift for a few minutes before Pesterchum pings you that a new message has arrived, from John. You consider venting to him, but that would be extremely unprofessional, so you simply say hello.

–––––––

This is getting ridiculous. Rose and Roxy clearly have some kind of weird human problem with each other. You google “weird human problems of human girls” and regret it massively. You kind of hope that is not their problem because you’re pretty sure it can’t be fixed, but it would be nice if they could stay in the same room at the same time so you could, like, talk to both of them. Or, you know, do whatever. You rise from your spinny computer chair, streaming cheetos and heroic determination, and go up the flight of stairs to Roxy’s room.

The door is open and she appears to be passed out drunk on the bed, but when you whisper “Rockth?” she makes a cute little mumbly sound and rolls over to squint at you.

“Mmmsup?” 

“No, maybe right now ithn’t the betht time to talk to you. You’re kind of incoherent.”

“Bee ess,” she says, sitting up with surprisingly minimal wobbling. “I’m fayn. Fine. What’s goin’ on?”

“Jutht, like, the thing with you and Rothe…” You are no good at talking about feelings, this is a downright disaster in the making. “Why do you alwayth run away when you thee her?”

Roxy looks like she’s about to cry. Shit. “Man, it’s not like she’s way too cool for me or whatever,” she says, face contorted in drunkenness or sorrow. “I grew up on stories about her, she was, like, legendedery. And have you noticed how she never makes faces? I mean she never. Uh. What was I saying?”

“That’th cauthe thhe’s thcared of you, too,” you say, sitting on the bed with her. Predictably she lolls onto your shoulder like a drunken sack of potatoes. “Although I can not figure out why.”

“Whaaaaat? She’s not scared of me, that’s ridonkulous. She’s like, this therapist who, Iunno, like, knows all your thoughts? And she especially knows my thoughts because they’re all ‘oh shit it’s Rose!’”

“Would you jutht talk to her?” You stroke her hair with your awkward knobbly hands and she leans into the touch like a cat. “I thwear, I will tie you up together and make you talk to each other. You both like catth, and withardth, and being really annoying, and, like, bookth or thome thhit, I dunno.”

Roxy hiccups, but it looks like she might be smiling. Score one for the master. “You gotta be there, though, kay?”

“Promithe,” you say.

–––––––

You are just the right amount of drunk for this. You can still form coherent sentences (well, kind of coherent) but your heart isn’t trying to pound its way out of your chest because alcholol (you just thought a typo but damn if it isn’t fitting) is a CNS depressant. You are slightly too drunk not to wonder if that’s why you’re depressed a lot of the time. Rose is a CNS depressant. What?

But Sollux is holding you up and when you come into the room where Rose is knitting a long black and yellow scarf you hardly want to flee at all. When she looks up, first her eyes go to Sollux, looking almost guilty, and then she doesn’t look at you. Is she ignoring you, or being scared of you like Sollux said?

He nudges you, and you clear your throat. Rose looks up at you slowly, and coolly, and with a slightly tilted head as if to unravel you. You want to puke.

“Uh, hey Rose,” you mumbled, staring at your pink-socked feet. “I, uh. Hey…”

Sollux snorts in anger or amusement and pulls you over to dump you on the couch next to Rose. Or, onto the bag of yarn Rose is using. Whoops. But you’re not too drunk to notice that she stiffens where you’re touching.

“You two have a problem,” Sollux says, and damn if he doesn’t look sassy with his hands on his hips and his head tilted like that. “Go on, hug, I dare you. We’ve been in thith houthe together for a week now, and you haven’t even thpoken.”

You are just drunk enough to do that.

–––––––

Your mother is hugging you and your brain shuts down. Roxy is hugging you, kind of awkwardly, and you think she might be drooling on you. You remind yourself to relax, and put your arms halfheartedly around her.

Damn her, she’s snuggling. It is utterly adorable and it is utterly unfair how she nuzzles you like a cat. Since she can’t see you, you allow yourself to smile into her hair.

Sollux drapes himself across both of you and wraps the unfinished scarf around your neck and then Roxy’s. He is bony as hell but you can’t bring yourself to mind as he kisses your cheek. “Ten minuteth punithhment hug,” he whispers into your ear.

“I’ll have to be naughty more often,” you say quietly. You hear him choke and Roxy bursts out laughing.

Maybe she’s a little less like your mother than you thought.

–––––––

You are Sollux Captor and you are extremely satisfied. Your human girl couch is way comfier than a normal couch, and you are within easy reach of all the kisses you could ever need.


End file.
